


From Vegetasei With Love

by Sefiru



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Backstory, Car Chase, Car Sex, Conspiracies, Death Traps, Exotic Dance, Family, Fight Scene, Food Porn, Handcuffs, Humor, James Bond spoof, Just Add Ninjas, Kidnapping, M/M, Mad Science, Ninjas - Freeform, Plus lots of cameos, Romance, Sex Work, Tail Sex, Tails, Vegeta is a secret agent, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-03-22 09:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13760811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sefiru/pseuds/Sefiru
Summary: Vegeta is a secret agent. His current mission: find out who is trying to re-create the Legendary Super Saiyan. Along the way, he runs into an exotic dancer named Goku, his brother Raditz, ninjas and a few other things ...





	1. The Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on AdultFanFiction eons ago.

Vegeta son of Vegeta lay on the dock behind his villa, soaking in the rays and thinking about nothing in particular. The breeze from the lake kept the sun from baking him too much, there was a cold beer by his elbow, and soon Nappa, his valet, would bring out a tray lunch. In the evening, he might crash an embassy reception for the free food, hit on the ambassador’s wife for kicks, and then go cruising the nightclubs. It was the perfect summer day.

And then his pager went off. “Damn it!” He rolled over and seized the device, about to fling it in the water, when he noticed the message. _Report in at once_ : he had a mission. An urgent, possibly dangerous mission. He stood up and flew into the house, where Nappa had already laid out his body suit and armor. He dressed quickly and went to the garage, starting up his Ferrari before the valet could catch up to him.

Of course he could fly into town if he wanted. But it wasn’t wise to flaunt his powers; that was the compromise made by a Saiyan living among humans, for all that humans accepted Saiyans more than any other nation on the planet. If he couldn’t fly, a bloodred convertible was the next best thing. He peeled out of the gate just in time to leave Nappa standing on the doorstep.

It wasn’t that he disliked his valet (well, maybe a bit). But recently he’d decided that it was time for Vegeta to pass on the family line. Fair enough, since he was the last surviving member of the royal house, but he didn’t have time to properly raise an heir, and he refused to simply breed like some kind of prize bull. He was a prince, he had men and women flinging themselves at him all the time, and only a handful ever met his approval … as he drove closer to downtown, he basked in the lustful looks of passersby of both sexes. Power was an aphrodisiac, and a hot car was just as good.

He pulled into the garage of a nondescript office building, where the gate scanned his license plate and rose automatically. He parked, swiped his card to enter the building, then scanned his palm to access the elevator. He selected the top floor, and waited, swishing his tail impatiently. Flying in the window was a “security risk,” apparently. The elevator doors opened on the final layer of security: his boss’s secretary. 

“Good morning, Krillin. You’re looking handsome today.”

The puny bald human looked up at him. “Just go in, you perv. B’s waiting for you.”

Vegeta strode into the inner office and closed the door behind him; the woman behind the desk frowned at him. “You’re late, Agent V.”

“I can’t teleport, woman. And call me by name.”

“I will when you stop calling me ‘woman.’” She shoved a folder at him. “Here’s your mission.”

He leafed through it. “Genetic research … bio-weapons … why are you putting me on this, B?”

“There are hints this group is trying to re-create the Legendary Super Saiyan.” Ah. He had first call on any cases to do with his people; it was one way he could fight in their name, though they no longer had a land or army. 

“Any sign of Icejin involvement?”

“Not yet, but you can be sure they’ll try to get their hands on it. Keep your eyes open.”

“Hn.” The folder was slim; mostly rumors, some leads on funding, selling designer drugs to the syndicates. Classy. There was a short list of known locations where sales were made, including, “Kame House. A gay bar?”

“Why am I not surprised you know the place?” Vegeta shrugged. He’d never been there; he preferred something more upscale for his entertainment. B continued, “Go to the basement before you leave. They have some new equipment for you.”

“Look, just because your father is the head of R&D doesn’t mean you can foist piles of useless gadgets on me,” Vegeta growled. He closed the folder with a snap and walked out. He and B had slept together a few times at the Military Academy, but nothing had ever come of it. She was a career woman who was dedicated her job, and he split his time off between training and amusing himself. And then there were her parents.

Of all the employees of the Chikyuusei Intelligence Agency, Dr. B was the one human that irritated Vegeta most. “Ah, Agent V,” the aging scientist called out as he stepped out of the elevator. “I’ve been expecting you! Come, I will show you our latest developments.” On tables all around them, computers bleeped, gadgets whirred, flasks of liquid smoked and hissed. Vegeta scowled. This room would seem loud to humans, and with his ears – ! Dr. B shouted over the noise, “Now I’m very proud of this one. I call it the Hookshot; tungsten steel grappling claw, nanocarbon cable, and a winch capable of pulling half a ton straight up. Oh! Now these dice are, in fact, two-way radios …” A tug on Vegeta’s sleeve made him look down; a fox-faced lab assistant was holding up a pair of earplugs. They looked clean, so Vegeta took them and slid them in. One by one, the lab’s background noises faded out, while Dr. B’s voice remained clear.

Amazing. A gadget that was actually useful. That set it apart from most of the doctor’s braindroppings. “… a capsule small enough to fit in your pocket, but when activated, becomes a full-size helicopter! Which reminds me, I built this wonderful little escape laser that will cut through any metal, but not through skin. Oh, and here’s the water-purifying mug … now where did I put those adaptive earplugs?”

Dr. B trailed off into muttering while he rummaged through the junk on his bench. Vegeta chose not to tell him that he was wearing them already. How some of these things could possibly be useful to him, he had no idea. He could fly! What good was a helicopter to him? Now, if they could build a minibar in a capsule …

“Agent V, dear,” a new voice trilled, “I’ve made up a few things just for you.” He turned around to face the other half of _thank Kami they’re not my in-laws._ Mrs. B ran the chemistry side of the lab, and while her voice made him grit his teeth in the effort not to strangle her, at least her concoctions were usually good for something. Why she had to show them to him on a tea tray with a _doily_ was beyond him.

The first item she held up was a ballpoint pen. “I’m so proud of this one. Exploding ink! Oh, as long as it’s in contact with the pen it’s quite safe, and it goes off thirty seconds after writing. And it can blow a hole in a concrete wall, isn’t that just darling?” She set it down and held up a case of small needles. “And this is my universal anesthetic, guaranteed to give any vertebrate species a nice long nap. Just one knocked out an elephant in only five seconds! The zookeeper wasn’t very happy, but what can you do? Be careful with those now.” 

Vegeta took both objects with a grunt. These might come in handy … unlike the stack of who-knows-what that Dr. B piled into his arms. Before he could complain, the husband-and-wife team herded him out with implacably cheerful smiles. Back in the garage he picked over the capsules, shoved the useless ones in the glovebox of his car, and found the others places on his belt. The earplugs went in the cuff of his glove. He had enough time left over to get dinner and find out where this Kame House was before the bars opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I had so much fun writing this. *giggles maniacally*


	2. Kame House

As he expected, Kame House was in a run-down industrial part of town. However, the exterior was in good repair, and his Ferrari shared the gravel parking lot with a Lexus, a Hummer, and a variety of muscle cars. Perhaps this place wasn’t so much seedy as little-known … his keen ears caught a techno beat from within, accompanied by male voices. Well enough. He entered the lobby and was waved on by the bouncer, a fellow Saiyan in traditional armor with hair down to his knees. He was probably supposed to check IDs, but it would be obvious to him that Vegeta was of age.

The interior was dark, with a milling dance floor between him and the bar at the far end. He noted some even darker corners where his targets could do their business. The clientele was all male and mostly human, with a scattering of a few other species. And then he looked up. In steel cages lit by spotlights, three dancers writhed and twisted with the music. Two were ordinary, if muscular, humans, but the third – 

The third was a Saiyan; tall, powerfully built even by his species’ standard, blue-black spikes of hair gleaming in the light. His sable tail coiled behind him as his feet stamped in time with the music. And he was wearing only a royal blue thong that left nothing to the imagination. Vegeta’s mouth went dry as he watched the dancer pose sideways, knees flexed to show off steel-firm thighs, and rock his hips with the beat. No wonder this place was so popular! He walked over to the bar, sparing just enough attention to keep from tripping, and dropped onto a stool without taking his eyes off the other Saiyan.

The bartender, when he arrived, was a grave disappointment: a gap-toothed old man with a scraggly beard. He eyed Vegeta’s rugged appearance and said sarcastically, “Let me guess, a dry martini.”

“Don’t be stupid. Guinness,” Vegeta shot back. He turned back to the dancers; the Saiyan, who was in the middle cage and obviously leading, had his back to the bar now. His feet planted wide apart, he gripped the bars over his head and lashed his tail sensuously. His shoulders flexed, highlighting massive corded muscles. His hips swayed from side to side, accompanied by firm, naked …

A thunk from behind him startled Vegeta out of his trance. He twisted around; the bartender had arrived with his beer, and he hadn’t even noticed until the glass hit the bar. “First time here, eh? That’s Goku, he’s our star attraction.”

Vegeta could believe that. He was an outstanding example of his species himself, but this “Goku” topped even him. The two backup dancers were nothing special – and one of them was wearing a wig – and they only highlighted his elemental grace. Vegeta realized he was close to drooling; he took a sip of his drink to conceal it. The bartender leaned closer to him. “He does private shows too, if you know what I mean.”

Without a word Vegeta pulled his credit card from his belt and slid it across the counter. The old man carried it off with a cackle; he returned a short while later with the card, a key and the receipt. “Mind you, this isn’t a guarantee,” he said. “If he doesn’t like you he’ll pitch you out on your ass, and we refund your money. Sign here.” Vegeta didn’t blink at the exorbitant sum. If Vegetasei were still around, a Saiyan with that kind of talent would be raking in millions a year, with movie contracts, royal patronage, and waiting lists months long. Being picky about his customers just showed that he had pride in his work.

“Your show starts at eleven,” the barkeep continued. “Green door past the men’s room, upstairs on the left.”

“Hn.” Vegeta checked his watch; it was half past nine. He still had an hour and a half to try to do some work. He mapped out where the darkest corners were, then spent a while noting the faces of those who came and went from them (though he resented having to take his eyes off the dancers). It was easy to pick out the ones he was looking for, since they all had that uncomfortable, hunched-shoulder look. _Macho poseurs. Serves ‘em all right._ They had an inflated sense of their own attractiveness if they thought any gay man would jump them, when there were _so much better_ things to look at in the same room.

He got up, ostensibly to find the men’s room, which he did. There was a ladies’ room beside it, which surprised him; the bar didn’t seem to have much use for one. There was a green door at the end of the hallway, as promised, but he let it be for now.

On the way there and the way back, he made sure to pass close to those dark corners. Not within range of human hearing, but well within his own; the crooks thought they were in no danger, and were free with their words. The clues he picked up were sparse – “When the boat comes in …” “…520, Station S…” “…stadium…” Little information, but enough to point him to Satan City, and a lead from the post-box number. He went back to his barstool hiding a smirk.

 

The dancers ended their performance at ten thirty; Vegeta’s eyes lingered on “Goku’s” form as the cages rose through hatches in the ceiling. A mediocre live band took their place. Vegeta drank his second beer and endured the noise for another thirty minutes. At eleven o’clock precisely he rose from his seat and headed for the back hallway.


	3. Shall We Dance?

The door had a small brass plaque that simply read _Goku_. Vegeta rapped lightly and a voice from within called, “Come.”

_Not yet, but I’m hoping._ Vegeta turned the knob and stepped inside; the Saiyan dancer broke into a huge grin. “I thought it might be you.”

“You noticed me, huh?” Vegeta eyed him. Up close he looked even more delicious; he had exchanged his blue thong for a gold one and was otherwise magnificently naked. His tail thumped lazily on the bed he was draped over.

“Of course I did! There aren’t many Saiyans in this part of town; usually it’s just me and my brother.” His tail flicked shyly. “As a matter of fact, you’re my first Saiyan ever.”

“Is that so. You don’t strike me as being too concerned with national pride … Goku.”

“Oh, that. Chichi came up with it. My real name is Kakarott son of Bardock.”

“Better.” A good, solid Saiyan name; Vegeta nodded his approval. He stepped closer to the bed and pulled off his gauntlets. “I am Vegeta son of Vegeta.”

“The Prince? No way!”

Vegeta couldn’t help but smirk at Kakarott’s wide-eyed expression. “What, you don’t look at the names of your customers?”

“I like to be surprised.” Kakarott suddenly jumped to his feet. “In that case, I don’t think this bed will be sturdy enough. I’ll take you to my real room.” That sounded promising. He watched as Kakarott pulled on an orange and blue training suit. That was how most Saiyans dealt with the troublesome problem of clothes: either as little as possible, or something loose and baggy. As he performed his reverse striptease, Kakarott chattered on, “I’m not really supposed to do this. Chichi – she’s the manager – doesn’t want any customers in the apartment side of the building. You’ll be okay, though.”

“Do those other two do private shows too?”

“Nah. Tien doesn’t want anyone to know about his wig, and Yamcha thinks it’s beneath him or something. Humans are weird.”

“Humans are obsessed with pair bonding.” Vegeta shrugged. It was a mystery to him, and to every other Saiyan, why humans would offer good money for a service and then treat its providers like dirt. Human sex was probably the only art on the planet where the professionals got less respect than the amateurs.

Kakarott led him through the rear half of Kame House, which looked like an ordinary block of apartments, and into his own bedroom in one of the units. The only furniture was a dresser and a low, wide bed – with a welded steel frame. “Make yourself comfortable,” he invited.

“Oh, I will.” Vegeta threw his gloves on the floor, rapidly followed by every other foreign object on his body. At the same time Kakarott shed his orange sweats, then stood posed with one hand on his hip and the other in his hair.

“So what are you in the mood for?”

Vegeta had known what he wanted since the moment he’d laid eyes on the man. “I want to fuck that sweet ass of yours,” he said. “But first, show me what else you can do.”

“Okay.” Kakarott pounced; in an instant Vegeta was flat on his back on the bed, with the dancer crouched over him. He leaned down and took Vegeta’s ear between his lips, startling a growl out of him. In moments he was hard and aching, just from the touch on his ear – now _that_ was talent. Although Kakarott’s musky scent also had something to do with it. Vegeta ran his hands over the other Saiyan’s back, and hooked his feet around his ankles. The dancer’s skin felt like finest suede laid over steel.

His lips left Vegeta’s ear and began a meandering journey down the cord of his neck, over his collarbone and down onto his chest. A tongue found his nipple, and his back arched off the bed. Kakarott was his first Saiyan as well, and he hadn’t known what he was missing. He smelled right, he felt right, and he sounded very right. Vegeta found a spot on his shoulder that made him purr; the sound heated him like a roaring fire. Drops of fluid oozed out of his cock. Kakarott examined it with a broad grin and then, looking Vegeta right in the eye, licked it from root to tip.

Oh. Yes. Vegeta lost track of the next few minutes while that skillful mouth took him to heaven and back. Kakarott could hold his breath for minutes at a time; he swallowed Vegeta’s shaft until his nose touched his skin, and then worked him with his throat muscles until he could barely groan. Vegeta was wild with lust. When Kakarott pulled back, Vegeta sprang up and slammed him down on the bed, tearing off the tiny thong that covered him. The dancer must have expected something of the sort; his response was to reach under the headboard and pull out a basket with a selection of lube in it. Vegeta chose a bottle of “extra thick self-warming” to slather on himself.

Kakarott raised his tail over his back and lifted his hips; at the sight of those sculptured buttocks spread open for him, Vegeta lost all control. He rammed into the other Saiyan’s body in one thrust. He had to bite his lip to keep from coming at once – so hot, so tight, so much stronger inside and out than any human he’d ever had. With every thrust Kakarott made that deep purring growl and his hands clutched at the bed clothes. His tail wrapped around Vegeta’s shoulders, twitching with every movement. Far sooner than he was used to, Vegeta felt the tensing that signaled his release.

“Raaaagh!” He buried his shaft as deep as it would go as his seed jetted out of him. Kakarott shuddered through his own climax, all his tail fur bristled straight out.

Vegeta rolled over onto the bed with a contented grunt. That had been the best fuck of his entire life – he was already determined to become a repeat customer. He looked over at Kakarott and found those wide bright eyes gazing back at him. “So am I fit for a prince, or what?”

“More than fit.” Vegeta smirked; just from inhaling that delicious scent, he was already stirring to life again. “Ready for act two?”

“Bring it on, your …” a finger trailed up the length of his shaft, “…highness.”


	4. Breakfast and Ninjas

Vegeta woke still curled in Kakarott’s bed, with the dancer’s sleeping form draped over him. They had screwed for half the night before collapsing in an exhausted heap; every time they finished a round, one of them did something that turned the other on again. He was definitely going to see about buying more of Kakarott’s time, especially if it meant waking up like this more often.

His living blanket stirred, opened an eye and then ran a hand down his chest. “I’d suggest an encore but you probably have to get to work.”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Vegeta sat up as another thought struck him. “Damn, my car must have gotten towed.”

“Don’t worry, the lot’s only a few blocks down. I’ll take you there after breakfast.” Kakarott rolled out of bed, yawned and stretched. Vegeta bit his lip. Hard. It was a shame, he really did need to get to Satan City before those leads went cold. Kakarott led him to the kitchen, where the bouncer from last night was making pancakes.

“Are you bringing your work home now, Kakarott?” he asked without turning around.

“It’s okay, he’s a Saiyan. And besides, he’s Prince Vegeta.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay then,” the bouncer said sarcastically. Then he turned around and did a double take when he saw Vegeta’s face – more easily recognized now than in the dark of the club. “Oh. Sorry about that. Raditz, son of Bardock, at your service.”

Kakarott stage-whispered, “He had a huge crush on you when he was twelve.”

“ _Kaky!_ ”

Vegeta held back a laugh as Raditz chased Kakarott around the table with the pancake spoon. Once the brothers settled down, they all sat down to breakfast. “I’m sure I’ve seen that hair somewhere before,” Vegeta mused, looking at Raditz’s outrageous mop.

“I guess it is kind of distinctive. I was one of the Hundred Hostages, you might have seen me then.” It was possible, though Vegeta didn’t like to think about that episode of his life. In the late stages of the war between them, the Icejins had apparently thought that snatching a hundred children, including the heir to the throne, in the dead of night would make the Saiyans surrender to them. It was a mistake on par with starting a land war in Asia or matching wits with a Sicilian. And while the two nations’ armies massed for battle, a single team of Saiyan commandoes slipped behind enemy lines … “Wait, your father is _that_ Bardock?”

“That’s him. He’s a cop in Viridian City these days.”

Vegeta remembered him as a blood-splattered form towering over the children as they piled into a commandeered bus. Energy blasts had set the buildings on fire, and the light made him look like an avenging demon. One by one his team sacrificed themselves to delay their pursuers; only Bardock made it out alive. Vegeta hadn’t known that he had a child of his own among the hostages.

“Kakarott was only a few weeks old,” Raditz related. “Dad got him out just before everything went pear-shaped. Sent him in a courier capsule.” Kakarott, meanwhile, was wolfing down pancakes at supernatural speed.

“Where does he put it all?”

“Hell if I know.”

After his humongous breakfast, Kakarott and Vegeta stepped out onto the streets of Chikyuu City. As suspected, the Ferrari was missing from the lot. “If they scratched the paint, I’ll kill them.”

“Don’t worry, Oolong’s good at his job. Even if he is a dick.” As they walked, Kakarott rattled on about the neighborhood and his denizens. Vegeta listened, bemused; the chatter irritated him, but on the other hand Kakarott had a sexy voice. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted him to shut up or not. A flicker along the rooftops caught his eye; he ignored it, until he saw it again.

“I think we’re being followed.”

“What?” Kakarott looked around in time to catch one of the dark streaks. “Oh, not again! Fricking ninjas. Their union is gonna hear about this.” A soft scuff behind them, below the range of human hearing, signaled that the ninjas had a member at ground level.

“I take it you have a deal with them?”

“This part of town is mine and my brother’s. They’re supposed to stay the hell out.” His ki suddenly flared. Vegeta was startled; Kakarott’s resting ki was barely above a human’s, but now his power level was close to elite. He noticed Vegeta’s gaze and said, “I’m not just a pretty face.”

“I know.” It really was too bad that he had to go to Satan City. They walked on, more alert now. And a good thing, too, because Vegeta barely dodged the shuriken that whizzed past him and stuck in the sidewalk. “Shit!”

“What is their problem?” Kakarott caught another shuriken in midair and flung it back at its source.

“I think they’re after me.” Vegeta drew on his power to prepare a ki blast.

“What are you, a CIA agent? And you are _not_ blowing holes in my neighborhood.”

“Spoilsport.” Vegeta pounced on the closest ninja, but his target slipped away just as fast. Not ordinary humans, then. Whatever species they were, they were too canny to let the Saiyans within reach of them; they filled the air with shuriken to keep them busy. The two Saiyans covered the last block at a blistering pace amid the clatter and thunk of thrown weaponry. Vegeta shouted, “How about a trip to Satan City? It’s on me.”

“Sure!” They pelted into the impound lot office, a shuriken flying in the door with them. The proprietor didn’t even blink. “In a hurry, huh? Forty-five bucks. What’s the plate number?”

Vegeta told him and threw a bill on the counter. He waited with lashing tail while the pig-faced man pulled out a form. “Sign here. Change.” He handed over a five; Vegeta stuffed it in his armor. “Lot’s through there, have a nice day. Lookin’ good, Goku.”

“Kiss my ass, Oolong.”

Vegeta was already out the back door, fishing his keys out of his belt. The Ferrari was, fortunately for Oolong’s health, intact. He leapt into the driver’s seat and jammed in the key; a shuriken whizzed by as Kakarott hopped in the passenger side. “Crap, they’re on the roof!” The engine roared to life and he threw the car in gear.

The lot gates swung open before him; a mass of black-clad ninjas blocked the road beyond. He didn’t even slow down. The ninjas scattered like bowling pins as the Ferrari plowed into them – none of them got hit, but they vaulted away with mere millimeters to spare. Only one was nimble enough to land on the back of the car. Kakarott half turned and fired a ki blast from his finger to knock the ninja off; Vegeta grinned as he pressed the accelerator to the floor. The Ferrari sped up the street, leaving the dazed ninjas behind.

*** 

Bardock: Okay, sons, show me the techniques you’re working on.

Kaky (age 5): _Jan-Ken-Pa_!

Bardock: Oof! Very nice, Kakarott. Raditz, your turn.

Kaky: you gotta call out the attack when you do it, Raddy.

Raditz (age 10): Um … *mental blank* … uh, _Double Sundae_!

Bardock: *facepalm*

Raditz: what? I’m hungry.


	5. Two Guys One Car

The Ferrari purred as Vegeta guided it into the hills outside Chikyuu City. Kakarott stretched out beside him, one arm on the seat back behind Vegeta’s shoulders; his face was tilted back in the wind, showing the curve of his throat – _I will not stare. Car crashes are bad._

“Were you serious about the night in Satan City?”

“Hn. Dinner, a show, and a good hotel. And your fee, of course.”

“I like how you think.” Kakarott pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ll just text Raditz so he knows where I am.”

Vegeta nodded. They seemed to have evaded pursuit for now, but they’d see it again. The fact that he’d been attacked at all meant that those thugs in the bar were more than ordinary gangsters: his face was well-known only in the international underground. Good, the big players were involved in this mission. He liked some spice in his life.

Kakarott noticed the phone dock on the dashboard. “Hey, do you mind if I put on some music?”

“As long as it’s not showtunes.”

“Aw, not even Gilbert and Sullivan?”

Vegeta gritted his teeth at the memory of far too many “cultural” diplomatic functions. “I will never willingly subject myself to such a thing.”

“What, never?”

“No. Never.”

“What, _never?_ ”

He couldn’t help it; his lip twitched up. “Well … hardly ever.”

“He’s hardly ever sick at sea!” Kakarott sang. “Don’t worry, my taste is better than that.” He loaded a playlist and stuck his phone in the socket. The squeal of an electric guitar rang out; Vegeta grinned.

All of his missions should be like this. Cruising in a scarlet convertible to the sounds of hard rock, with a beautiful man at his side. All he needed was a set of wraparound sunglasses, which he had in his glove box. Kakarott laughed with delight as Vegeta put them on. His hand left the back of the seat and started stroking Vegeta’s thigh. The spandex started to get uncomfortable.

“I could help you with that,” Kakarott said.

“Any more _help_ and we’ll run into a tree.” Vegeta took one hand off the wheel to open the hidden fly of his suit, allowing his cock to spring free. “However, feel free to look.”

“I sure will.” It didn’t take long for Kakarott to pull his shaft into the open air as well. The two men in the Ferrari roared through the Chikyuusei hills, their cocks jutting out in front of them. 

Vegeta could just see a flash of Kakarott’s skin at the corner of his eye. That, along with the breeze on his shaft, made him throb with every heartbeat. He clenched his teeth. When he spotted a lookout area beside the road, he decided he’d had enough; he pulled in and threw the car in park.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Kakarott said.

“Hn.” He vaulted over the windshield onto the hood. “You’re going to suck me off on the hood of my car.” Kakarott scrambled out the passenger side door and around to the front. He slid Vegeta’s knees apart and settled between them.

“Nice view.” And it was. He flicked his tongue out and then ran it up Vegeta’s shaft. He swirled around the tip. He closed his lips on the side and sucked up and down, using a lot of tongue on the way; it was a show as much visual as sensual. He sank down and lifted one testicle with his tongue, then engulfed it. He did the same with the other. Vegeta was getting close to the edge; Kakarott licked and nibbled him like a gourmet confection, and made sure he could see every moment. The tongue dipped into his cock-slit and he roared, splattering Kakarott’s face with his come. Without a pause, the dancer went on to gather the fluid on his fingers and lick it up. Vegeta started to stiffen again at once. And Kakarott was still hard, too.

“Did you bring any lube?”

“Right here.” Kakarott pulled out a small tube. “What do you have in mind?”

Vegeta demonstrated that his suit fly opened all the way to his tail. Kakarott took the hint. He slicked himself quickly, then slipped out of his shirt (nice view, indeed) and lined up his tip with Vegeta’s hole. Slowly but steadily he pushed his way in; by the time he was fully seated, Vegeta was rock hard again. He gripped Kakarott’s hips with his knees and growled at him to move. Kakarott set both hands on the hood beside Vegeta’s head and rocked his hips back. The dancer was _hung_ ; his shaft touched places a mere human cock could never reach. Vegeta ground into every thrust, making soft purrs and groans of pleasure, until he finally spilled his seed. Most of it landed on Kakarott’s chest; he felt Kakarott’s seed jet into him as the dancer tensed and growled.

They pulled apart and straightened their clothes, with Kakarott again licking himself clean before putting his shirt back on. Vegeta stretched lazily before standing up. “You missed a spot,” he said, and licked a fleck of his own seed from Kakarott’s chin. “Next stop, Satan City.” They climbed back into the car.

As they cruised along the winding road to the coast, Vegeta’s sharp ears detected another car engine approaching from behind. He noted that it was moving fast; it rounded the last curve and appeared in his mirror, a black sedan, showing no sign of slowing down. Battle reflexes took over and he threw the wheel over. The Ferrari slipped out of the sedan’s way with inches to spare. “Whoa,” exclaimed Kakarott. “What’s his problem?”

“No idea.” Ahead of them, they both heard the squeal of tires as the black car made a three-point turn and then the roar of the engine coming back towards them. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Vegeta’s hands clenched on the wheel. His eyes flicked from side to side; he could go to the inside of the curve and risk crashing into the hillside, or he could go to the outside and risk flying off the road. Which side? Left or right?

The roaring engine was just beyond the bend. “Left!” shouted Kakarott, with such conviction that Vegeta didn’t argue. He turned the wheel and the black car skimmed past them a second time.

Lovely. Vegeta knew this road well; it didn’t branch for another fifteen minutes. He doubted the other driver was going to give up, and he could hear two more vehicles approaching. He sped up as much as he felt was possible. “Kakarott, how are you with ki blasts?”

“Passable.”

“Try to slow them down.” The three cars – all glossy black, same make, same model – swung into view behind them. The road was too narrow for them to drive abreast, so they made a kind of wedge with the front car straddling the center line and the other two on either side behind it. Kakarott twisted around, extended a finger and launched a volley of ki blasts to the rear. “Why do so many people want to kill you?”

“I actually do work for the CIA.” Vegeta split his attention between the mirror and the road ahead. Kakarott’s blasts had at least gotten the ninja cars to slow down. A fourth car joined the others and jostled for position at the back of the pack.

“You haven’t got any smoke bombs in here, do you?”

“They’re in my other car.”

“Crap.” One of Kakarott’s blasts hit a tire on car #2; it spun out, and the third car crashed into it. Car #4 slammed on its brakes to avoid the wreckage, which blocked the road. That left the original car to pursue them. It edged closer, swerving from one side to the other to avoid Kakarott’s shots. The car was now close enough to see the driver’s masked form through the windshield. The car also had masked passengers. He couldn’t drive any faster and stay on the road; the distance between them got smaller and smaller.

Their bumpers touched. Kakarott’s blasts bounced off the hood and shredded some nearby trees. The ninja car nudged them and the seat lurched against Vegeta’s back. “Damn it!” The black car slipped back a bit, then the engine revved; it was going to ram. Left, or right? He chose the outside. The ninja car clipped his rear corner and the Ferrari fishtailed. Now the cars were side by side. The black car slammed into his side panel – his outside tires skidded off the road. Again – the Ferrari tilted, lurched and was suddenly airborne. Jarred by the impact, Vegeta tried to gather enough ki to fly. He was vaguely aware that the other car had run into the hillside from the recoil. And then it was too late, the Ferrari crashed onto the rocky ground, and both Saiyans leapt clear a split second too late. Vegeta hit the ground hard, rolled, and staggered to his feet. Kakarott lay below a splintered tree, apparently knocked out. Vegeta stumbled over; Kakarott’s eyes flickered open when he touched his shoulder. “Geta?”

“Hn.” They had to get out of here. It was only a matter of time before that fourth car found a way around the wreck or called for backup. Looking up, Vegeta saw the square outline of a building against the sky. An objective. He hauled Kakarott up against his shoulder and started walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He is the very model of a Moden Saiyan Super Spy … ^^


	6. Greenery

Vegeta woke up less sore than he expected. He was alone in a small room on an oddly crunchy bed that smelled of toast. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it also didn’t encourage him to lie around. His clothes were on a spindly table next to it; the only other thing in the room was a potted plant. He snorted. Just his luck – the doorstep he’d collapsed on belonged to a Namek monastery. Every Namek he’d ever met had been either dull or insufferable, though since they’d also run afoul of the Icejins, they and Saiyans were on good diplomatic terms. At the moment. Tension was inevitable between Vegeta’s sensual species and a people who stuffed their mattresses with oat bran.

He got dressed, since Nameks insisted on modesty (curse it); no sooner had he finished than he heard a tap on the door. A stocky Namek walked in. “Greetings, guest. I am Nail, the elder defender of this house.” That made him something like a Captain of Security. “Now that you’re awake, our healer will examine you, and our chief elder wants to ask you some questions. Your companion is awake already.”

“Has he eaten the pantry bare yet?”

Nail’s expression might have been a smile. “Not yet. I will lead you to him after the examination.”

Two more robe-swathed Nameks entered; one was tiny, little more than a child, while the other was tall, lean and sly-looking. The taller one spoke: “Nail, I’ll take it from here.” This would be the chief elder, then. “So, Saiyan, what were you traveling to Satan City for?”

They must have questioned Kakarott already. “I’m doing research for my job. Why is it any of your business?”

“Surely it’s our business to be concerned when a couple of Saiyans just happen to be going to Satan City at a time like this.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

The short one, the healer, piped up, “He really doesn’t know about it, Piccolo.”

Piccolo narrowed his eyes. “Sure you don’t. And for a completely legitimate reason you were speeding down the highway with ninjas on your tail.” He pulled a page from a newspaper out of his robe. “Read this.”

It was page 11, the Satan City local news. In between a story about a tree falling on someone’s house and another about a minor celebrity arrested for feeding pot to her Chihuahua, there was a report on the latest in a series of muggings apparently committed by a Saiyan. The assailant, oddly, never actually stole anything; the police suspected drug abuse was a factor. He was described as unusually bulky, with a facial tattoo and golden hair. 

“See!” Piccolo said at Vegeta’s expression. “You recognize the description – you do know something!”

“I know that someone’s ripping off the most famous figure in Saiyan mythology. Golden hair is the mark of the Super Saiyan. I thought everyone knew that.” A lead, he had a fricking solid lead! He’d also scored a hit on Piccolo, who looked even more sour. He took back the newspaper.

“Dende, you may proceed.” The short Namek shuffled to Vegeta’s side and solemnly grasped his wrist with both hands. A cool ki rippled over him – the kid was a ki healing prodigy, and that explained his lack of soreness. His lingering aches evaporated under Dende’s talent, and in mere minutes he couldn’t tell that he’d been in a car crash the day before. “Nice,” he said. Dende blinked shyly back at him and scampered out of the room. Piccolo said, 

“Unfortunately, our vehicle is out for the day, so one of us will take you to Satan City tomorrow.”

“I appreciate your hospitality,” Vegeta replied with only slight sarcasm. If Piccolo couldn’t wait to get rid of him, he couldn’t wait to leave. The monastery wasn’t a religious community; all Nameks preferred to live this way. A red-blooded Saiyan would go mad with boredom. Nail showed him to Kakarott, who was sitting on top of the outer wall, surrounded by the remains of a picnic lunch. On seeing Vegeta, he called out something that was unintelligible because his mouth was full.

“I hope you left me some.”

“Mm-hmf.” Kakarott pushed one of the baskets towards him. Nail left them apparently alone, though Vegeta had no doubt that they were being watched. He took the lunch basket; all plain food, of course, but at least it was filling. He slapped together a sandwich and bit into it. “You all right?”

“Yeah. That little guy did some ki healing on me.”

“Me too.” Vegeta leaned against the narrow railing. From up here, he could see the ocean. Over the horizon across the water lay Vegetasei, now empty of its native race, burned and pillaged by the Icejin army. Since the age of five, he’d only seen it in satellite photos.

Kakarott leaned on the wall next to him. “I don’t remember it,” he said. “I was three weeks old when my mom died in the last battle. I don’t remember her either.”

“Both of my parents were there.” Vegeta flicked his tail. Half of the adult population of Vegetasei had met the final Icejin charge; there had been no survivors.

“Dad used to get flak because he got out alive, as if he’d cut and run or something. But the idiots shut up when he got a medal from the King of Chikyuusei.”

“Hn.” There had been humans on the field that day, shapeshifting commandoes in Saiyan guise; they had stood and fallen beside their allies. The King was a shapeshifter himself, and had served in the special forces. Had he not been down with a combat injury, he would have been there too. He, and Bardock, and Vegeta all knew the responsibility of being those left alive.

“I’ve always wondered, why weren’t you crowned king, if your father is dead?”

“I swore an oath when I was ten years old. That I would not be crowned unless it was in the palace of Vegetasei.”

He saw Kakarott’s tail fur bristle. “Whoa … when you do, will you give me the grand tour?”

“Hn.” He grabbed Kakarott’s shoulder and pulled him in, mashing their lips together. The dancer squeaked, then purred. His tail slithered against his legs, then wrapped around one ankle. His hands wandered to places on Vegeta’s hips. Heat radiated from his body …

“ _Ahem!_ ” 

Nail was standing on the wall stairs. Vegeta shot him an irritated glare, but broke his embrace. “What?” 

“If you can contain your hormones for a minute, your insurance company is here.”

That was what passed for a Namek sense of humor. Vegeta growled, “Consider that a rain check, Kakarott.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is another protest against the underuse of shapeshifting characters in canon.


	7. Satan City

Piccolo gave the Saiyans a ride into Satan City, since he was attending to some business there; to Vegeta’s chagrin, Kakarott got along with the crusty Namek as if they were old friends. His chatter and Piccolo’s sardonic replies filled the journey. Vegeta folded his arms and brooded over his leads and evidence: a renegade bioweapons lab, messing with ancient Saiyan myths and designer drugs … a post-office box number and a small-time mugger. Ninjas in black cars. He didn’t have enough data yet to put it all together.

They got out of the Namek’s van at the side of a broad avenue lined with boutiques. “What now?” asked Kakarott.

Vegeta intended dinner, a show and a nice hotel – not necessarily in that order – and he’d made the arrangements last night. They had some free time until then; he had formal human dress in one of his capsules, but Kakarott … “We need to get you a suit.”

“Huh?” Kakarott blinked; Vegeta considered which tailor could do justice to those broad shoulders … “Hey, it’s that nice a place, is it? Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.”

“N?”

Kakarott looked in both directions along the street to get his bearings, and then took off down the sidewalk. “I’ve been to Satan City a few times before.” That wasn’t all he said, of course. Vegeta was starting to get used to the chatter – and once he was past his aversion to noise, it wasn’t half as inane as he’d feared. Kakarott didn’t miss much; the tiniest details of their surroundings, along with interpretations of the same, tumbled from his lips like water. He didn’t seem to expect a response, so Vegeta was content to stroll along beside him.

Satan City’s main industry was entertainment, and it showed. This was the high street, where the shops had jewels in their showcases priced higher than most cars, big-name designers hawked the latest trends, and cafes offered brews from remote and photogenic corners of the globe. But Kakarott dragged him away from the glamour jockeys and gawkers into the side streets.

Here was a side of the city that Vegeta had hardly seen. In the centuries-old warren of alleyways, the shops sold organic pizza and airplane models, used books, quartz crystal carvings and secondhand pianos. One building was having its roof done, and the clatter of tools and cheerful curses filled the air. Kakarott insisted on pausing at a novelty shop to buy some trinket for his brother. Vegeta’s tail waved with amusement. As they walked further, their tails brushed together and eventually hooked around each other. Kakarott’s tail was velvet soft … check-in time was too far away. They walked past a shop filled to the brim with parrots in cages, another stacked with every kind of dishware imaginable, a noodle bar that smelled of shrimp, a hundred unique and peculiar enterprises. They ended up, of all places, in front of a pawnshop.

Kakarott walked in without stopping, and Vegeta perforce followed. “Goku!” cried the figure behind – no, on – the counter. It was a human shapeshifter with the form of a black cat; the register came up to his shoulder. “Hi, Puar,” Kakarott greeted him.

“Is there anyone in this country you don’t know?” said Vegeta.

“He’s Yamcha’s cousin. Makes a mean tuna burger.”

“Trust you to think of food first, Goku,” the cat laughed. “Nice catch, by the way.”

Vegeta grunted. Kakarott scratched the back of his neck and grinned. “I need to get my stuff, Puar.”

“As usual, ne?” Puar leapt off the counter and trotted into the stock room; Vegeta looked around the shop. A rack of katanas, a stuffed armadillo, a drum set with dented cymbals, a row of alligator purses hung by their handles on a broomstick. A dusty set of free weights, and a carved wood curio from old Vegetasei. Hmm. The pawnbroker returned to the counter with a garment bag and a small duffel. “There you go, Goku.”

“How much for the cabinet?” Vegeta put in.

“For you, sir, an even grand, plus a hundred for shipping if it’s outside the city.”

Vegeta took out his wallet. The cat processed the purchase with a sunny smile. Kakarott signed a receipt of his own and handed it back. Vegeta gave his address, and the cat attached a ‘sold’ tag to the piece of furniture. “There you go, I’ll have it sent within the week. Oh, Goku, there’s a barbecue at Yamcha’s place next Saturday.”

“You’re the best, Puar.”

They went on their way again. It was almost noon, and Kakarott was speculating about where to eat a “proper lunch” and simultaneously relating his history with the cat. “I went to high school with him, you know. Maybe we should go for curry? Nah, garlic breath. He wanted to join the special forces, but he failed the physical, so he took over his grandma’s shop. Fried chicken might be nice … I give him a few bucks every month to keep some clothes and stuff for me. I know, let’s get hoagies.” Vegeta shook his head ruefully.

The air around them became heavy, and he thought it might be about to rain; he looked up, but the sky was blue. The sense of looming trouble remained. Kakarott glanced around as if he could sense it too, and his tail coiled closer to his body. “You think it’s ninjas again?” he muttered.

“No. Something else.” Vegeta ducked into a side alley, with Kakarott right behind him – he didn’t want any innocent bystanders around. Or witnesses, depending on the outcome. And besides that, there was nothing like a fistfight to get the blood moving. A door creaked behind them; they both turned around. A hulking figure stood in the street, head and shoulders taller than either of them, torso like an ox, with peculiar bluish hair Though he appeared to be Saiyan he had no tail, and there was an M-shaped mark on his forehead. He bellowed wordlessly and lunged at them. “Hey, that’s rude!” Kakarott yelled as he jumped aside.

Vegeta spun on his toes and struck his opponent in the ribs, but it was like punching a lead block. The ox latched a massive hand onto his shoulder and lifted him off the ground; Vegeta kicked him in the face, which startled him enough to let go, but his nose wasn’t even broken. Vegeta growled and raised his ki higher. Across from him, Kakarott shot volleys of ki blasts, and when they had no effect, set up a larger attack. “Kame-Hame- HA!”

A beam of blue-white energy struck the ox in the stomach; he grunted but was otherwise unfazed. Vegeta, on the other hand, was… stiff. Handsome, talented, and powerful. He had to get Kakarott into an arena and watch him fight. By comparison, the stranger wallowed like a drunk; he had strength and speed, but nothing of grace. His ki rating had to be in the millions, but he had no formal training. An ox. The mark on his forehead shimmered briefly, and then his hair flashed into yellow.

Vegeta squinted against the sudden surge of ki. “Hn. So they actually did it.”

“Did what?” called Kakarott.

“Recreated the Legendary Super Saiyan.”

“I dunno.” The dancer bounced away from a punch that left a hole in the wall behind him. “Isn’t the Legendary supposed to be, you know, rational?”

“Point.” Vegeta kicked the false Legendary in the head, twice, then went straight up before the ox could grab him again. The ox growled in confusion; hadn’t he been taught to fly? Or any finesse, for that matter – Vegeta rubbed his shoulder. Right after that Dende kid had fixed him up, too. The ox turned back to Kakarott, who hopped nimbly up the fire escapes to a rooftop. The ox growled again and started climbing up the wall, ripping handholds in the brick as he went. Vegeta scowled; he and Kakarott couldn’t even damage the creature, and he was too fast for them to outrun. Then he remembered the darts Mrs. B had given him. He took the case from his belt, drew out one gleaming needle, and threw it. It sank into the fake Legendary’s neck as he passed the fifth floor. Kakarott wasn’t waiting around; he was already three buildings away. After exactly five seconds, the ox shuddered, went limp and fell to the street below. The pavement cracked; the Saiyan didn’t seem to be harmed.

Vegeta waved Kakarott over and floated down to examine the unconscious form. it was a letdown; as a boy he’d daydreamed about facing a Legendary in battle, or about becoming one himself. This was not what he had in mind. His feet touched the ground – with a poof, smoke billowed around the ox, and when it cleared, the creature was gone. Damn, he was working with a teleporter. That certainly explained how a Super Saiyan could run around in the middle of the city without getting caught. In broad daylight, even! He wanted a closer look. That much lumbering, graceless muscle looked more like the result of copious steroids than the ultimate perfection of the Saiyan form; the M-shaped marking felt vaguely familiar too.

Kakarott tugged on his sleeve. “Come on, Vegeta. Let’s get going.” He’d already retrieved the bags which he’d dropped at the start of the fight. Vegeta smirked. By the time they reached the hotel, it would be check-in time.


	8. It's A Date

The room that Vegeta had reserved was neither the most expensive nor the cheapest available. However, it was guaranteed to be soundproof. He closed the door and locked it; Kakarott was already shedding his shirt. “I hate clothes. I don’t know how you can stand wearing that much all day.”

“I’m used to it.”

“Sure, and it has no effect on your mood whatsoever.”

“Hn.” Vegeta unfastened his armor. “That ox still got away.” To tell the truth, he did feel better once the air hit his skin – though that might be because Kakarott was already naked.

“Don’t worry, I can find him.”

“What, you know him, too?”

“Nah.” The dancer pulled him close to whisper in his ear. “It’s kind of a secret. My father has the shaman powers – he hid it since he really wanted to be a soldier. I have a touch of it as well.” That explained how he’d known which way to dodge the car, and how he expected to trace an individual ki over an unknown distance. And in that case, the chase could wait a while; Vegeta tipped him backward over the bed.

“You are full of surprises.”

“I’d like to be full of something else.” Kakarott’s tail coiled over Vegeta’s buttocks, and he growled. Powerful, beautiful, clever and sexy: he had really lucked out when he walked into that bar. He nibbled along Kakarott’s collarbone, making him groan. His hands slid over the curves of his arms. He breathed in the musk of Kakarott’s body. Long fingers dug into his hair, and corded thighs clutched his hips.

It fed his ego that he could get such a reaction from the experienced professional. But then, he was Kakarott’s first Saiyan, and that gave him the advantage. Kakarott cried out as Vegeta took his ear between his lips. They both groaned when he ground their hips together – then he abruptly sat up. “Crap. The lube’s in my belt.” He stood up, tossing over his shoulder, “I’ll be back.”

While he was taking the capsule from his belt, he heard music come on in the room. Now what was Kakarott up to? He turned back to the bed to see the dancer writhing against the covers in a horizontal version of his routine. His hands traced a slow arc above his head, while his jaw raised up to bare his throat. One leg stretched straight, flexed, and drew in again. The other leg was folded tight against his buttocks, hiding nothing. His tail looped over his chest, brushing his nipples and making them stiffen. Vegeta stood stock still for a moment, drooling.

Then he jumped on the bed and shoved Kakarott’s knees apart. He spread on the lube in a flash; he could not wait a moment longer to sink into Kakarott’s heat. He groaned aloud as the flesh engulfed him. Kakarott whined a counterpoint – then surged up and flipped them over. “First you tease me, then you make me wait. Well, I’m not going to take it any more.” He rose slightly, then rammed down hard. Vegeta roared. Kakarott rode his cock with the force of a battering ram, as if he was trying to rip himself apart on it. It was all Vegeta could do to thrust his hips up to meet him; once again, Kakarott was making him lose his mind. The dancer’s inner muscles rippled oddly, and then his cock spurted thick white seed across Vegeta’s chest and stomach. The sight pushed Vegeta over the edge, and he roared as he poured his fluid into Kakarott’s body.

Afterward, Kakarott pulled off him and lay at his side, purring in his ear. “I guess we need a shower before we go to dinner, huh?”

The shower almost made them late; the sight of water streaming over Kakarott’s glistening, sculpted body was more than Vegeta could resist. He took Kakarott again against the shower wall, the hot water washing away their juices. There were perks to being an elite-level Saiyan, and stamina was one of them. 

They did eventually put their suits on and got to the restaurant in time. It was one of Vegeta’s favorites in the city, located on the top two floors of Satan’s Emporium, with large windows looking into the arena that was the core of Satan City’s entertainment business. The Maitre d’, a jovial white-furred cat-man, led them to a table beside the glass; what looked like a soccer match between tanks was in progress below. Vegeta perused the menu, mainly to distract himself from the way that Kakarott’s black silk tuxedo perfectly framed his chest. Tasty.

One of the things that made the Lookout the best in the city was that they offered dishes for every species’ appetite. Vegeta selected the whole rotisserie chicken, while Kakarott ordered both the 24-ounce porterhouse and the slow-braised Cornish hens with all the fixings. As their waiter took notes with increasing bemusement, they chose half a dozen appetizers to share, then had an argument about the wine. Vegeta wanted his usual Cabernet, while Kakarott insisted on Merlot, saying that no Cabernet was worth touching until it was fifty years old. They finally ordered a bottle of each, and two glasses of Riesling to go with the _soupe crème de saumon_. Their food arrived in short order and they fell silent to give it the attention it deserved. Kakarott was actually eating slowly, which Vegeta took as a sign of how much he was savoring it. The near-orgasmic purrs were a clue, too. 

The head chef, a rotund Africainian, came to their table as they were finishing their main courses, and he only needed one look at Kakarott’s happily swishing tail before breaking into a grin. “I suppose I don’t need to ask if you’re enjoying the meal.”

“it’s great,” Kakarott said. “I’ve been to the Emporium before, but never to the Lookout. You made the turnips taste wonderful.”

Vegeta looked at his plate. Those were turnips? “It’s an old family recipe,” the chef said, summoning a waiter. “And are either of you interested in dessert?”

Kakarott, it turned out, had already set his sights on the Schwartzwalder torte. Vegeta flicked his tail tip; why not indulge for once? “I’ll have the butter pecan coupe with grilled banana.” A ludicrous, and hardly manly, dish to have a weakness for. However, his stomach would not take no for an answer. “And I think we’ll have them in the lounge.”

“Very well.” The waiter trotted off, and Chef Popo returned to his work. The two Saiyans finished their meal and their wine – to Vegeta’s chagrin, Kakarott was right about the cabernet. Then they climbed the red-carpeted stairs to the second floor. Here they settled into an angled leather sofa with a view of the arena; the event was now a team battle between groups of powered armor. Their waiter brought their desserts and carried away Vegeta’s credit card. He hardly cared what this evening was costing him, and he ignored the chafing of these absurd human garments – whoever devised the necktie should be strung up by his own invention. But Kakarott was able to make the ensemble look elegant, even when he was face-down in chocolate cake. Another waiter delivered glasses of port “compliments of the house,” which considering how much they’d eaten didn’t surprise Vegeta at all.

Kakarott’s tail twined with his own, drawing out a purr almost against his will. Just three days, and he couldn’t imagine his future without the dancer at his side. He had to get a new convertible – one with a wide back seat. He sipped his drink. “This port has an interesting bite to it.”

“I’m not going to take your word for the quality of liquor,” Kakarott teased. “But you’re right. I’ll have to ask what kind it is.” He blinked drowsily. “We didn’t drink that much, did we?”

“I don’t think so.” It occurred to Vegeta that his vision was blurred. It had struck suddenly, not the usual for drunkenness … he felt Kakarott’s tail go limp, just as his own limbs failed to support him. “Shit, the drinks were – ” His vision swam, and the world shimmered away into darkness. _Drugged …_


	9. Supervillainy

Vegeta’s awareness returned with atypical slowness. His first thought was that hangovers sucked. The next was, _what’s happened to Kakarott?_ And his third thought, which came with his eyes crawling open, was that someone had just made his job much easier. He was in a literal broom closet, apparently emptied for his benefit, a forlorn, dingy mop head dangling off a shelf above his head. He could just barely hear the clicks and chirps of monitors nearby; the air had the flat non-smell of microbial filters.

As far as he knew, there were no drugs that could be slipped into a drink to knock out a full-grown Saiyan so quickly. Even Mrs. B’s miracle darts had to pierce the skin to work. The only place he could think of with both the means and motive to build such a thing was his target – the illegal bioweapons lab. Now he remembered where he’d seen that mark on the fake Legendary’s head; it was the mark of a mind control technique seen occasionally in the Underground. Chikyuusei had been trying to bring down the culprits for years, along with every other civilized nation on the planet, but they’d never found anything substantial. Well, that had just changed.

He checked himself over. The headache was rapidly fading, leaving behind a wooly feeling in the back of his mouth. He was still in his suit, hadn’t been carrying most of his tools, and his captors had taken anything that might possibly be a weapon, including his wristwatch. However, they’d left the exploding-ink pen. They’d also missed the capsule with his spare battle suit, hidden in the knot of his tie. The damn thing was good for something after all. He changed quickly, folded his suit into the capsule, and stowed it on his belt. He could get the rest of his stuff on the way out.

He raised his ki and was considering the door’s construction when its lock clicked. A squat, bug-eyed being entered, swathed in a pale green lab coat. “Greetings, Prince Vegeta,” it cackled. “Welcome to Majin Enterprises. I am Babidi. We rarely entertain someone of your reputation; I hope you enjoy your stay, kekeke.”

Sarcasm at ten paces, eh? “The accommodations leave much to be desired,” Vegeta shot back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go help some little old ladies cross the street.”

“I think you will wish to accompany me, if you wish to see your boytoy again.”

So they’d brought Kakarott along; good, he had some backup. The shriveled-up creep sounded like he was going to take Vegeta right to him, but a hint of outrage seemed appropriate. “What have you done with him?”

“Nothing … yet. Kekeke.”

_You’re new to supervillainy, aren’t you?_ Vegeta ambled along in the tiny scientist’s wake, ignoring the two armed guards that joined them in the hall. He wasn’t going to start anything … yet.

A door slid aside and they walked into a large lab area. Centrally placed was Kakarott, floating in a tank of medical gel with a respirator strapped to his face. His eyes were closed and his ki showed that he was still unconscious. “We’ve given him an extra dose of anesthetic,” Babidi said. “So he won’t be awake for quite some time. We were lucky to find you in the company of this particular Saiyan.”

“What do you want with him?” _Go on, monologue. Stalling is good._

“Keke! Though he doesn’t know it, this young man has been integral to our latest project.”

“That meathead in the alley? I doubt that.”

“That was merely our initial attempt!” Ah, there he went. “At first we attempted to enhance a normal adult Saiyan with growth factors and tailored hormones. Unfortunately, while the physical development was successful, there was significant damage to the subject’s mental faculties.”

No, really? He felt Kakarott’s ki rise slightly, and realized that the dancer’s supercharged metabolism was already burning off the extra dose. It was little oversights like that which tilted the odds in his favor; he just had to take advantage of them. He pushed a thought into his ki, hoping that Kakarott’s shamanic gift would detect it. _You must appear to be asleep, Kakarott. Listen, but do not open your eyes._ There were medical sensors on the tank, but no one was watching the monitors. Babidi was still talking.

“For our later trials, we determined that the subject’s growth should be engineered from conception. To that end, we obtained a gene sample from your companion, there. Now we have the chance to compare our two processes against each other.” Like hell he would, but he’d find that out soon enough. Babidi tapped a button and the lid lifted on a stasis casket, revealing a Saiyan child in a virtual reality headset and with an M marking on his forehead. His hair fell to his tail base, like Raditz’s, and his face was so much like Kakarott’s … “Test subject 2 is chronologically eighteen months old, but through the use of a hyperbolic time chamber, he has a subjective age of fourteen.” And they expected this kid to be more stable than the ox? On another note, time chambers were so hideously expensive that only governments could afford them – the Ice-jins had to be in on this. And Majin didn’t intend him to get out of this room alive. Business as usual.

The VR helmet disconnected and the boy’s eyes half opened. He stepped out of the casket. Babidi’s finger hovered over a button “By the time he is mature, he should easily reach the required energy for Super Saiyan. And as you can see, he is firmly under our control. And now, _Agent V –_ ”.

Kakarott’s eyes flashed open. Glass splinters and goo rained outward as he tore through the tank. Vegeta whirled and punched out the two guards. Babidi’s finger fell on the button, and the floor opened up beneath Vegeta’s feet – just before Kakarott’s fist met the scientist’s skull. As Vegeta dropped into the pit below, he saw the M mark fade from the boy’s face.

***

Kakarott watched as his son – _his son!_ – blinked and focused on him. “D-dad?”

“I guess so.” In just a few moments, according to his memory, he’d gone from drinks in the Lookout’s upstairs lounge, to being captured by a mad scientist, to discovering he had a child. And then the guards were out cold, the lab-creep was out, Vegeta was down a pit (which wouldn’t last) and the two of them were alone together.

The young boy stepped closer to him. _He has my face, but Mom’s hair like Raddy does._ What would his brother say when he brought this one home? “They told me you didn’t know I exist.”

“Uh-huh. You’re a wonderful surprise.” And he was. A bit shy, but what could you expect when he was raised as a lab animal? His ki fairly screamed of frustrated curiosity, and the need to get out. “Come here. What’s your name?”

“Gohan. Because I was made from half of Goku.” Unusual, but Kakarott wasn’t going to complain. His son. That was just so … awesome. He gave Gohan a hug, which startled him.

***

Vegeta hauled himself up to the rim of the pit, only to find Kakarott in the middle of a family moment. “Excuse me!” Both father and son turned to look at him. “I hate to spoil the mood, but we’d all better get moving.” No sooner had he said that, than the pit’s cover started to slide closed. “I’ll catch up with you,” he called. “And watch your ass, I like it the way it is!” He dropped back into the pit, and the lid closed on Kakarott’s laugh.

The bottom of the pit was a long, narrow room with oddly angular steel walls. He shrugged and took a step towards the maintenance hatch at the far end. There was a shriek of gears, and the walls started to grind towards each other. “You have got to be _fucking_ kidding me.”


	10. The Gauntlet

The crushing walls were one of the oldest ones in the book. Vegeta conceded that they could be effective – but not when they were used against an elite-level Saiyan. He punched through the wall and ripped off a long section. He threw it crosswise on the floor, and while the room’s machinery jammed against it, walked to the access hatch and kicked it out.

On the other side was a bare corridor, a junction at either side. Vegeta chose the left for good luck; two nervous security guards appeared to bracket him. One of them fired a stun gun at him – a stun gun! He stepped aside, seized the wires and yanked the gun out of the man’s hands by them. The other guard turned tail and fled, jabbering into his radio. Fool; he could have made his shot while Vegeta’s back was turned. He punched out the disarmed guard, lifted his keys, and left him crumpled on the floor.

Another corner, and he was faced with a stretch criss-crossed with burning lasers. That was slightly more original, but still mediocre. He sneezed at the smell of scorched paint, then fired a ki blast at the first laser emitter. It stuttered, gave off blue smoke, and failed; one down. The laser dots sped up and started tracking him purposefully. He slipped from side to side, tracing the beams back to their lenses and shooting them out; he was almost to the door when a backup laser came to life and struck his tail. He whipped around and blasted it. “ _Nobody_ messes with the tail.”

*** 

Kakarott didn’t want to let go of his son; he’d never had one before. The trapdoor closed over the pit Vegeta had dropped into, and he still had Gohan wrapped in his arms. “Do you think he’ll be ok?” Gohan asked.

“Who, Vegeta? He’ll be fine, he does this for a living.” He scanned the lab room; he might not be the sharpest nail in the box, but he had a fair instinct for sizing up a situation. If this place was built for the betterment of society, he’d eat his shirt. If he could find his shirt. “Anyway, let’s get out of here. Which way is the exit?”

“This way first,” Gohan pulled on his wrist, “We have to get my brother.”

“You have a brother?” Kakarott’s eyes grew to three times their normal size, and Gohan giggled. _Two_ sons? 

“Yeah. He’s still really little.” They went into the halls, and Gohan’s voice dropped, as if he felt the need for stealth. “You look different than the pictures I found, but they were in the dark.”

“So, they let you on the internet?”

“Yeah, they don’t want me going nuts like Brolli.” That had to be the fake Super Saiyan from Satan City. Kakarott shook his head; no family of his would ever end up a lunatic like that.

“Here it is.” Gohan pushed open an unmarked door. Beyond was a smaller lab, with a few cabinets, a desk, and a glass-fronted box containing … “This is Goten, because he looks like he came from heaven.”

“He does.” The child was barely a year old; he was fast asleep with his fist in his teeth and his little tail curled around his knees. He had the same hair as his father and grandfather. As Kakarott stared, Gohan opened the box and wrapped Goten in a blanket.

“Do you want to hold him?”

“Y-yeah ...” Kakarott cradled the sleeping infant in his arms, glancing between him and the older boy. Sons! Did he have enough space in his apartment? Meanwhile, Gohan went to the cabinets and rifled through a stack of disks. He pulled out half a dozen and put them in an envelope. “And that’s our medical records. Can we go now?”

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

*** 

Vegeta was in a foul mood. He stormed past two spiked pits, a razor-edged pendulum, and a hallway lined with giant buzz saws, and left them mangled behind him. Who the hell built this kind of shit in a laboratory basement? His tail was singed, his spandex was torn and his knuckles were scraped from punching all that metal. By the time he got to the floor with jets of flame shooting out of every surface, he didn’t even bother to destroy it; he merely raised his ki and marched straight through. For variety he used a kick to put a hole in the far wall. He stepped through, only to fall into a large tank of water.

_Salt water; must be sharks._ Indeed, a large, finned form was circling closer. On its chest was a tattoo reading DHARMA. On his other side, a second shark approached, this one marked GREG. Vegeta cracked his knuckles.

*** 

Kakarott and Gohan skulked along in almost complete silence, to avoid both alerting the guards and waking Goten. Kakarott felt like he was playing hide-and-tag; he wondered if Gohan had ever played it. They crouched at the bottom of a staircase: “This is it,” Gohan said. “The lobby is up there. I’m … scared. I’ve never been outside before.”

Kakarott said what his father used to say when he was scared: “Are you going to let that stop you?”

“Heck no.” Above them, a ki flared that Kakarott had felt once before. “Oh, no,” said Gohan, “it’s Brolli. It’s coming true!” 

“What’s coming true? Did you dream about this?”

Gohan nodded shyly. “You were standing in the lobby across from Brolli, and I was there with Goten, and – oh! Doctor Bibidi was hiding behind the counter.”

“Ok.” Kakarott handed Goten to his son and crept up the steps. “While I distract them, you go along the wall to the door.” The mouth of the stairwell was at right angles to the stairs; cover. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the coming fight.

He reached the top step and paused, then jumped at the back wall, bounced off it and landed on the lobby floor. Brolli didn’t look any more rational than the last time they’d met, so he didn’t bother to say anything. Keeping his eyes on the false Super Saiyan, he stepped diagonally away from the stairs and towards the reception desk. His ears weren’t as sensitive as Vegeta’s, but he could hear someone frantically whispering instructions – probably into a radio. Brolli turned to follow him; as soon as his gaze left the stairwell, Gohan slipped out in the opposite direction.

Kakarott stopped. Brolli stopped. They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Brolli lunged, and Kakarott leapt straight up to avoid him. He came down with a kick to Brolli’s head, dropped to the floor, and rolled out of the way of a stomping foot. He came up swinging at Brolli’s chin, then narrowly dodged a roundhouse punch. He wasn’t trying to beat Brolli, just to buy enough time for his sons to get out and for Vegeta to catch up to them. The fake Super Saiyan did seem a little slower this time – or maybe his own ki was higher.

Brolli’s tail whipped around and caught him in the knees, throwing him to the ground. He rolled with it, and came to his feet already looking for the next opening. His danger sense shrilled and he ducked to the side, just as a laser blast ruffled his hair. A glance aside; the scientist from under the desk had climbed on top of it and was aiming a pistol at him.

“If you can’t get him, Brolli, I’ll do it for you!” _zing!_ Kakarott dodged again; so did Brolli, who was in the line of fire. _Zing!_ The third shot grazed his hip. _Crap!_

“Dad!”

Both Brolli and the scientist turned to look at the source of the cry. _Double crap!_


	11. Brolli Rises

Kakarott’s heart skipped a beat as both his opponents turned to look at his sons. No! Not after he’d just discovered them. He racked his brain for a course of action; suddenly, the wall behind the reception desk exploded outward, knocking the scientist over and throwing chunks of concrete all over the floor. Through the hole stepped Vegeta, a dead shark slung over his shoulder. “Sushi?”

“Vegeta!” He scrambled back towards the wall; luckily, the commotion had taken Brolli’s attention away from Gohan. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. You?”

“Yeah.” Kakarott looked around. “The bug-eyed dude is knocked out, maybe without the mind control Brolli will be more cooperative …”

“AHAHAHAHA! At last, Freedom! Now nothing can stop me from CONQUERING THE WORLD!”

“…or not.” Kakarott bounded over to the pillar that Gohan was hiding behind. Brolli had lost the dull, glazed expression and looked manic. His aura roared about him like an infernal halo, and he seemed to expand to three times his previous size. Wait, he really was expanding! This was officially going from bad to worse.

Vegeta hurled the shark at Brolli and followed in its wake to plow his boots into Brolli’s face. It had no visible effect; he vaulted over the behemoth’s head to the floor – then narrowly avoided Brolli’s punch. He had spun around in mid stride to strike. _Damn, he’s fast._ Apparently it was Majin’s mind control that made him lumber like a drunken rhinoceros.

This called for the big guns. Vegeta sped off across the lobby, with Brolli in hot pursuit. Just a little time … “Run, little rabbit!” Brolli roared. “I’ll eat your liver.”

Vegeta liked his liver right where it was. Besides, this rabbit had fangs. He slammed to a halt and turned, his hands already launching his attack. “Eat this! Big Bang!”

The ki beam struck Brolli in the abdomen. At the same moment a pale blue beam struck him from behind, and he screamed. “That tail was brand new, you bastards!” The stench of burned fur wafted through the air. While he was distracted, Vegeta sprang in and smashed a fist into his chin. “Nice one, Kakarott!” He didn’t know what kind of attack that was, but he liked it. 

In the next moment Brolli’s backhand caught him and flung him through the wall; he brushed off cement crumbs as he stood. How dare this drug-soaked monstrosity try to overpower him, the Prince of All Saiyans? Brolli did not come by his power honestly; he had no formal training, and he was a dangerously deranged lunatic.

“Come out here and fight like a bunny rabbit! HAHAHAHAHA!”

Bunny rabbit? _Bunny rabbit?_ That did it, this punk was going down. “Big Bang!” the ki blast preceded him out of the hole in the wall. This time it hit Brolli in the face with a satisfying sizzle. Another of Kakarott’s beams hit him in the back of the head; the dancer’s ki was higher than Vegeta had ever seen it in their admittedly short acquaintance. _Ah, Kakarott – once the children are tucked in safe tonight_ … But now was not the time to think about that. Brolli still wasn’t showing any damage. What did it take to get him down? Vegeta snarled and vaulted across the lobby, landed, and took a step – and stepped on the Majin scientist, who twitched and made him trip. Startled, Vegeta hit the floor and rolled. He came up staring at Brolli’s glowing fist from half a meter away.

“I’ve got you now, little rabbit!”

Vegeta was getting very tired of that crack. Unfortunately, his comeback was interrupted by a point-blank punch to the ribs, followed by a kick to the side. He slammed into the remains of the reception desk; this time, he was slower to get up. He’d have a hard time talking his way out of this …

“No.” Suddenly Kakarott was standing between them; what was he thinking? He shouldn’t be getting himself killed at this point! They hadn’t even got to play with handcuffs yet. And then there was the matter of the boy. Vegeta edged away; Brolli cocked his fists at Kakarott. “Get out of my way, cream puff.”

Cream puff? Kakarott settled into his battle stance. “No. I won’t let you get away with this.” Brolli snarled. His fist flew forward, and … Kakarott caught it. His ki was high enough, and he caught it.

“Oh. That’s how you do it.”

“Do what?” growled Brolli.

“This.” He pulled on his ki just _so_ , and twisted it like _that_. Bright, sparkling power coursed through him; he felt lighter, and it was easier to hold Brolli back. He checked – his tail fur had turned gold. He grinned and punched Brolli in the chin.

The bulky Saiyan tore through yet another wall, and came back in with veins pulsing on his forehead. “You hurt me!”

“It happens in fights.”

“I don’t hurt! Other people hurt!” That was weird; had Brolli never been injured? Well, if he’d never faced off against an equal, maybe not. That had just changed.

It was like a dance – he pivoted out from Brolli’s next strike and turned it into a throw; before Brolli landed, he powered up his best technique. _Ka. Me. Ha. Me._ Brolli hit the floor. “HA!”

“Yeaaaaaaaarrrgh!” The smoke cleared to show Brolli sprawled in a scorched crater. “You haven’t seen the last of me! Soba!”

What? A slender pink-skinned figure popped into existence, grasped Brolli’s wrist, and teleported both of them away. _I guess the question was ‘who’ …_ “Hey, get back here!”

Meanwhile, Vegeta had reached Gohan, who held a (miraculously still sleeping) Saiyan infant. Another one? It was going to take him a week to write this one up. On the upside, the kid was almost at the door. And Kakarott … holy shit. He was too busy drooling to even feel jealous. Golden hair, blue-green eyes, energy swirling around him as he blocked and struck. And then yelling at thin air after Brolli turned tail. Then he turned and stepped over the rubble towards them with the weightless grace his power lent him. “Vegeta, are you okay?”

“Kakarott …” he searched for a functional neuron. “You’re the Legendary.”

“I am? Hey, I guess I am!”

Vegeta’s chuckle was silenced by a pair of warm lips closing over his own. Soft, smooth lips; the crackling energy brushed against him like the tips of a thousand feathers. And Kakarott’s scent was there, sharpened, amplified … Vegeta creamed his shorts.

When he could think again, Kakarott had returned to normal, or as normal as Kakarott got, anyway. “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah.”

“Um, Dad?” Gohan was at the door, still holding his brother. “It’s locked.”


	12. Homeward Bound

Vegeta stalked over to the locked exterior doors and glowered at them. “This isn’t even worth wasting ki on.” He took out Mrs. B’s exploding pen, uncapped it, and scrawled _FUCK THIS SHIT_ across the offending barrier. He turned his back, counted silently, and then, _kerboom-oom-oom-oom-oom_. An errant piece of Plexiglas hit him in the head.

When the dust cleared, the doors had been replaced by a gaping hole. The pen was a keeper. Vegeta snapped his tail and strode through it; Kakarott laid a hand on his son’s shoulder and followed. It was night. A glance at the stars told Vegeta where he was, and which of the two glows on the horizon was Chikyuu City. Screw social conventions, they needed to get away fast. He looked over at Gohan, who was staring at the countryside with eyes as wide as saucers. Right, the lab rat treatment; he’d probably never seen the night sky before. “Hey, kid. Can you fly?”

“Uh, no, sir.”

“Don’t call me that, it makes me feel old.” Vegeta considered. “Kakarott, you take the little one. I’ll carry the boy.” Kakarott took the infant in his arms, practically cooing over it. Well, the thing _was_ adorable. Not that Vegeta would ever say so out loud. He pointed at his back armor; “Grab on, kid. And hang on tight.” As soon as Gohan had a steady grip, he drew ki and launched himself straight up. He rose to a thousand meters and paused; Kakarott had tied the infant’s blanket around himself as a carrier, and was right next to him. 

“You know we can’t ever talk about you-know-what.”

“Hn, it’s off the record, completely. Too bad, though. It looks like fun.” Vegeta’s tail flicked. The consequences if King Kold – or worse, his psycho spawn Frieza – got wind of Kakarott’s power did not bear thinking about. But if they had a large house, with broad grounds to hide his energy – like, say, Vegeta’s mansion …

The flight was uneventful. The two of them compared notes; after a while Gohan stopped freaking out about the height and added his own observations. Those disks he had lifted from the lab were worth their weight in gold. He also began to tap his own ki; first growing lighter on Vegeta’s back, and finally gliding along on his own power. He was smart enough to keep a hand on Vegeta’s armor, just in case. The kid was going to do fine. A little while later, the little one – Goten – woke up and naturally started crying. Kakarott hummed and tried to calm him; Vegeta gritted his teeth and flew faster.

Not soon enough for his ears, they were over Chikyuu city. Kakarott took the lead; he easily picked out his home and landed on the doorstep. Loud music was already blaring from the club on the other side. No sooner did Vegeta touch down beside him than the door opened; holding it was a grizzled Saiyan warrior, the older image of Kakarott, a scarlet ribbon tied around his head. His free hand was holding a baby bottle.

“Dad, you old faker!” Kakarott exclaimed. “How long have you known?” He took the bottle and, after a brief fumble, got Goten to drink from it.

“I Saw this coming a couple of years back,” Bardock replied. “Gohan, I’ve made up the spare room for you.”

“Thank you … Grandpa.”

Vegeta blinked. This shamanic vision business was going to take some getting used to, especially since Bardock looked like he’d just stepped out of Vegeta’s blood-soaked memories. Kakarott curled his tail around his arm and pulled him inside. Once again Raditz was at the stove, stirring a pot of something red and fragrant. “There you are, Kaky. Maybe now you can explain why Dad dragged all your old baby stuff out of storage – ” He caught sight of Gohan and Goten. “What the flying – uh, pigs? Kaky, I know for a fact that you’ve never touched a woman. _How_?”

While Kakarott caught up his brother on the last few days – notably leaving out his ascension – Vegeta borrowed his phone. He called the hotel in Satan City and explained that he’d been called away by an emergency, “So pack up my belongings and ship them to my home address … of course I’ll pay for the extra night, what do you take me for?” 

Goten had fallen asleep again, and Bardock cradled him in the crook of his arm. “You’ve grown up well, kid. I think your father would be proud.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Lighter on top, though, I’ll bet.” Bardock stroked his grandson’s hair with the same fingers that had once torn enemy soldiers limb from limb. “I’m going back up north after the weekend, but we’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on.”

“I look forward to it.”

The weirdly domestic scene continued through dinner, and Raditz eventually asked Kakarott if he was going to perform the next night. Vegeta had already decided on one thing: “I hope you don’t mind if I buy all of your evenings in advance.”

Kakarott chuckled. “Not at all. As long as you don’t ask for a discount.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you. Especially now that you have two boys to take care of.”

The dancer hopped into Vegeta’s lap, and the room suddenly felt much warmer. “Gee, I’ve never been a kept man before.”

“I’m keeping you, all right.”


	13. Handcuffs

Gohan and Goten were fast asleep in their new beds; Raditz was on shift at the club, and Bardock had settled down on the sofa, claiming a long day. That left just Kakarott and Vegeta, who were also in a bedroom, but with no intention of sleeping. They quickly shed what clothing they had on; Kakarott didn’t have much of it, lucky man. Then Vegeta lounged on the bed while the dancer rummaged through his dresser for toys. It was a spectacular view.

“Say, you got any handcuffs in there?”

“Let me think.” Kakarott hopped onto the bed, straddling Vegeta’s body, and gave him a brief lick on the cheek before reaching into the nightstand. “Ah, here they are.” Vegeta raised a hand to take them, only – click, click – to find himself cuffed to the headboard. Kakarott grinned down at him. “At last, Agent V, I have you in my clutches! Mwa hahaha!”

“I tremble with fear,” Vegeta purred.

“Soon you’ll tremble with something else.” Kakarott seized his tail with both hands and stroked. Vegeta tried to move into it, but between the cuffs and Kakarott’s weight on his thighs, he couldn’t budge an inch. Those clever hands continued to play with his tail; fingertips dug into his fur, and palms rolled the tight bands of muscle. Vegeta’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he groaned. “I am going to get you for this, Kakarott …”

“And oh, what a way to go.” He brought the tip of Vegeta’s tail to his lips and sucked on it. His eyes half closed as he savored the taste, and his rapt expression sent cold chills through Vegeta’s body. This was heaven. Kakarott’s musk hung in the air; his purr whispered in his ears. Vegeta supposed he’d never get around to continuing his family line, and right now that didn’t seem like a big sacrifice. Little sparks of lightning traveled down his tail to his groin with every move that Kakarott made. As he watched, a bead of fluid collected at the tip of his cock and then trickled down the side. 

Kakarott hummed around his tail tip, making his hips jerk upwards in response. Fingers wrapped around his tail root and pulled, smoothly, up his length. His tail was twisted, squeezed, pressed against that warm firm stomach, while those lips and tongue worked his tip until all the fur was slicked down with saliva. He watched wide-eyed as Kakarott took a deep breath and then slid his mouth over the tail tip, deep throating it. At least a foot’s length of tail vanished into his throat; the sensation was exquisite. And then Kakarott swallowed around it. Vegeta howled and lifted off the bed with the force of his climax. It was the best tail job he’d ever had, and as Kakarott bent down to lick his semen off him, he was already hard again.

He was going to get fucked. He just knew it, and his inner muscles fluttered in anticipation. Kakarott was as talented in that as in any other erotic art. But first, he leaned forward to nip along Vegeta’s collar bone. His tail twined around Vegeta’s, while his fingers found Vegeta’s nipples. A cold sweat broke out on his brow. “Kakarott! Get on with it!”

“Getting there is half the fun.” Another slow roll of his nipples and he seriously tried to break his arms out of the cuffs; nothing happened. “Come on, did you think I’d try to cuff the Prince of all Saiyans with mere steel?” Kakarott moved to the side so that his hands could roam all over Vegeta’s body, from a sensitive spot on the back of his knee to the soft undersides of his earlobes. A finger dipped into his navel and circled, a promise of similar treatment elsewhere. The cuffs dug into his wrists, reminding him that he was at Kakarott’s mercy. He moaned. Kakarott’s lips descended on his own, tongue snaking between his teeth, unique taste filling his senses. And meanwhile, that finger still pressed and swirled in his navel until he was no more than a quivering puddle on the sheets. Heat collected at the base of his tail, and almost without thought, his knees drifted apart. 

Kakarott noticed the movement and pounced. He settled between Vegeta’s thighs and took his sac in both hands, rolling it until Vegeta was reduced to broken mewling. Damn, but Kakarott was talented at this. The hands went away; Vegeta blinked and attempted coherency, but failed miserably. The haze of need and pleasure was pierced by a touch under his tail, a thick, heated rod – oh. It was Kakarott’s cock. Vegeta was more than ready for it, and Kakarott slid into him with no resistance at all.

He hadn’t been topped so thoroughly in, well, ever. Kakarott was Legendary in more ways than one … and he treated Vegeta to a legendary ride. Starting off slow, then gradually increasing both speed and force until he was ramming Vegeta against the mattress at every stroke, and taking full advantage of the welded steel bedframe. Vegeta was drowning in a sea of fiery sensation – and then Kakarott struck something inside him, and it was too much. He came, hard, thrashing in Kakarott’s grip and the bands of metal around his arms. Dizzy, he fell back on the bed; when his awareness returned, Kakarott had unlocked him, and was rubbing the sweat (and other things) off him with a damp cloth. He purred and pulled himself closer to Kakarott’s broad chest. The fate of the world could wait a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hums James Bond theme*


End file.
